Sleeping Beauty and the Beast
by dreaming-in-pretenses
Summary: He's the Beast with a body he can't yet overcome. She's the Sleeping Beauty who drinks more than she sleeps. Fiona's fairytales are as twisted as she is – but maybe her fairytales are what they both need. Set after "Halo - Part 2." Adam/Fiona


Title: Sleeping Beauty and the Beast  
>CharactersCouples: Adam/Fiona  
>Rating: PG-13<br>Warnings: Physical and emotional abuse, alcohol abuse, possible gender dysphoria trigger.  
>Timeline: Set after the episode "Halo (Part 2)". It was completely finished before I saw any other episodes, so disregard all of the recent episodes (especially Fiona realizing she's a lesbian).<br>Disclaimer: I don't own "Sleeping Beauty," "Beauty and the Beast," "Shrek," or "Degrassi."  
>Summary: He's the Beast with a body he can't yet overcome. She's the Sleeping Beauty who drinks more than she sleeps. Fiona's fairytales are as twisted as she is – but maybe her fairytales are what they both need. AdamFiona

* * *

><p><em>Princess Aurora was born blessed and beloved by all but one witch.<br>This witch deplored the fact that she had not been invited to the princess' birthday party, and cursed the infant to one day prick her finger on a spinning wheel needle and die…_

**"Sleeping Beauty and the Beast"**  
><strong>By: dreaming-in-pretenses<strong>

"Then the princess pricked her finger on the needle…" Fiona murmurs to the half-empty bottle nestled neatly between her enclosed palms. She thinks that maybe she should be nursing her own injured finger, sliced on the broken shards of her last drink, but can't find the motivation to move. It is taking every ounce of strength she possesses merely to keep a strong grip on her final lifeline. And if she lets go of the lifesaving tube to preserve a limb, won't she die anyway?

So Fiona's finger bleeds on, discoloring her blouse and defacing the floor. As it slides down her skin, drying and then dripping and then drying and then dripping again for all eternity, it almost mars her, but she's become so corrupted that nothing can scar her any further.

So corrupted, indeed, that she _needs_ her lifeline, if only to live on for another day.

Between the liberating savior clasped in her hands, and the manipulative killer gluing her hands shut,

_(the rage in Riley's voice as he tried to force her into something she had never fathomed before; the hardened apathy in Bobby's eyes as he _slapped_! _slapped_! _slapped_! her)_

she can ignore the voices that have haunted her for so long, and she can be _normal_, if only for just a while. As the therapeutic burn eases down her throat, she can _forget_ her troubles; she can be _pure_ again.

Like her childhood self, who daydreamed in class and played pretend at home. Who laughed at "boy cooties," and only kissed her dolls.

Who read fairytales and smiled and knew she was only fit for a prince.

* * *

><p>When Adam was younger, he used to cry about the monster in his closet. Every time his parents shut off the light, for <em>years,<em> he would start screaming and begging them not to leave him in his room with it. It was _so, so close,_ he could feel it, and if they left, then there would be no one left to protect him…

And it would swallow him whole.

"There's nothing there," his birth father would say, exasperated and tired of dealing with a nonsensical child for so long. "There's nothing there, and you're not _two _anymore._ You need to get over it._"

And his bedroom door would _slam! slam! slam! _behind his father, echoing enough in his ears to somewhat calm his cries.

Then his mother, his overbearing but well-meaning mother, would open the closet door, confirm nothing was there, and smile comfortingly.

"See? There's nothing there! Nothing to be afraid of, Gracie!"

_But she was right there, his monster. She was always one step behind him, hiding in the shadows, and here was the proof: his mother was speaking to her. That monster, that demon, who somehow shared his name._

And he would begin to cry harder.

When he was older, he abandoned his façade of femininity, and Gracie came out of her closet, too. Making her new home inside of him. Forever waiting, just below the surface. Haunting him with her perky breasts and female sex. _Always, always, invading his every thought-_

Reminding him that _he had been the monster all along._

* * *

><p>God was busy mourning the severity of Adam's sins the day Adam chose his new name.<p>

Or at least that was how it seemed to Adam. He had raced down the stairs that morning, nonchalant as anything, resolutely ignoring the pounding of his heart and the tremble in his hands, and announced to his wide-eyed parents that he would be called Adam from now on.

Then, his courage abandoning him, he raced out the door to find his world was raining.

It was literally just his world, or at least his street; despite the harsh downpour that had utterly drenched him in seconds, the other side of the street was calm and almost cheery, with barely a cloud in the sky. It felt to him that God was judging him, and crying over his inability to get over childish fears.

"Would you let me into heaven with this monster inside of me?" Adam had whispered. But his tears had begun to mix with the rain, and that was enough of an answer for him.

It wasn't normal to be this way, and people like him didn't deserve to be treated like normal human beings. He was a freak, an abomination, someone who had done wrong over and over again. In order to reach heaven, he himself needed to be cleansed of his wrongdoings, reborn free of sin.

But how could he ever be cleansed when his sin was a living, breathing part of him?

Adam had cried the entire way to school that day, he remembers, even when he had passed his street and the rain had ended. He had thought about his life, and about his fears, and about the monster eagerly sucking his life force away.

Once - only once - did it occur to him that, if his life was a fairytale, a prince could have easily cut the monster away.

But then it occurred to him that prince wouldn't, _couldn't_ ever be him. And he vowed to vanquish away such meaningless thoughts for good.

Why depress himself even more, by entertaining ideas that one who wasn't even fit for heaven could be a wondrous, fairytale prince?

* * *

><p>Despite Adam's vow to forget, his world is again raining on this late Friday night - and as he is drenched to the very bone, he recalls that day with painful clarity. He can remember the pain, the tears – and the agonizing realization that he, himself, could never be a prince.<p>

He hates that he is remembering that day now, on today of all days, at this moment of all moments. Because today was the day he had worked so hard for; today is the date he chose for the secret party. And at this very moment, he is standing outside her apartment building.

Just waiting for the most princess-like girl he has even known, and hating himself for remembering he can never be her prince.

Feeling like a stalker, and hating himself even more for being so insecure in the first place.

Just waiting, and feeling like a stalker, hating himself most of all for daring to be so naïve. Because, even as he waits, he knows she isn't going to come out.

It's been at least an hour since the secret party started. Fifty minutes since he decided to just relax with Eli and Clare, convinced Fiona was simply planning on being "fashionably late." Twenty minutes since he grew extremely concerned and abandoned the warmth of bright lights and smiling people to visit her apartment. Ten minutes since his world started raining.

Five minutes since those horrid memories came back.

He considers calling her again, but what is the point? He's called her two, four times, and each time it has gone to voicemail. The fifth time it went to voicemail on only the second ring, signaling she herself pressed "ignore." He wants to believe that simply knowing she is well enough to ignore him is enough, but it isn't. If anything, it's worse. Why isn't he good enough now? Hadn't Drew confirmed that she liked him? Hadn't she herself flirted with him, or at the very least encouraged his own advances, just hours earlier?

How did he screw up so badly, in such a short amount of time?

Or – could it be that it was not him that messed up, after all, but the monster hidden inside him?

Had Fiona somehow found out about Gracie, and was that why she now no longer wanted anything to do with him?

Adam positions his fingers above the call button on his phone, but hesitates, as a drop of water mars the surface of his phone.

He isn't sure whether it is God or himself who is crying this time – but painful memories are overcoming him, and he is losing his courage. Fiona has been the most interesting girl he has ever known. She's proven herself sophisticated and knowledgeable, but also very understanding and caring. She isn't like other girls; she almost is un-human in her extreme similarities to a fairytale princess.

And he isn't sure he can bear it if she finds out he isn't fit to be her prince.

* * *

><p>The phone nestled in her left pants pocket buzzes again. Fiona, attempting to balance her drink neatly in one hand, slips several times – and by the time she's finally managed to take out her phone without dropping her drink, the call has gone to voicemail.<p>

Too inebriated to mind much, she squints and slowly, so slowly, the blur of writing on her tiny phone finally clears enough for her to make out a name.

_Adam._

Hasn't he called before? She works through the fog in her mind that might contain memories to find that, yes, he has called one or three times. She isn't quite sure, but she believes she didn't pick up during those times, either.

The prince, fighting through the terrors of bad reception and ignored calls – such an admirable image! So valiant, so courageous, and just so _utterly_ appealing to Fiona, and she finds herself giggling uncontrollably as Adam calls, just on time, and her fingers brush the "ignore" key. Let him fight away! It's the prince's job to rescue his princess anyway – and perhaps it'd be more romantic for him to actually fight evil witches and enchanted dragons, but Canada isn't quite as mythical a land as wherever Sleeping Beauty resided. She'll accept his journey of attempting to overcome terrible communication – after all, she realizes suddenly, she isn't a real princess, anyway. He'll find his way up, and he'll want to give her a kiss to break the spell, only to find –

_Her. _Not enchanting, slumbering Aurora, but revolting, inebriated Fiona. She quickly takes a large sip to wash down the imagery, but it prevails anyway: a large, revolting ogre, shamefully wearing the façade of a princess.

She sips again, and again, _and again_, hoping each sip will change the image in her mind, but it only grows stronger, until she can focus on nothing else. Then she finds the bottle empty, and _flings _it across the room. Its crash reverberates in her mind, and she finds herself, too, falling through the air.

Lying on broken shards on glass.

Her dress quickly stains red, but it is only her finger she can focus on.

And as it continues to bleed, and bleed, and bleed, there is only one thing she can think to say:

"Then the princess pricked her needle on the finger…and fell to the ground, in a peaceful slumber."

Does it still count as a fairytale if she pricks her finger through inebriation? Can she still be Sleeping Beauty if she drinks herself to sleep?

Why is it that her life always plays out like a twisted fairytale, and how come her prince never comes?

* * *

><p>Fiona, who moved for the first time at the young age of three, never knew what it meant to live in a "home." She was aware, each time her mother gathered up all their belongings and shooed the twins halfway across the world, that this new "home" would be temporary. At best, they would stay there three years. It was not uncommon for them to leave after three <em>months<em>.

And so, Fiona never learned how to grow attachments to people. She would meet a friend, just get to know him or her, and be whisked away to a new place again. She never had time to actually begin to _care_ for these people – and after a while, she forgot how to care for anyone that wasn't her mother or her brother. She became distant and restless in school, responding with disinterest to anyone who spoke to her. She couldn't understand her classmates, and they couldn't understand her. To them, she appeared snobby and stuck-up. To her, they were no more than passing scenery; they came with the temporary "home," and would leave her forever when she left. To make up for her lack of human interaction, she worked on her fashion knowledge, and developed a true and slightly obsessive love for fashion. People left her – but clothing did not. The choice was obvious to her.

Moving was thus no big deal to her. After all, her many clothes, which helped her to hide in her apathy, always came too. And they followed her to New York, where she found herself after a short stay in Degrassi. She wore them with pride – stunningly expensive designer designs; vibrantly unique indie looks; simple but elegant "average American" fashion. They all helped mask her need for human interaction, and she survived yet another new high school.

Unfortunately, they also helped her catch _his_ eye.

Bobby was the first person to try to get to know her, and like every other person who tried to associate with the chillingly aloof Fiona Coyne, he was at first coldly ignored. However, he kept persisting, and to everyone's surprise – even her own – he somehow managed to chill her stony exterior, and get to know the simple and shy girl that lay underneath.

She found him fascinatingly classy and very intelligent. He had opinions about things, and he wasn't scared to express them. This was an extremely appealing trait to Fiona, after having spent so many years dealing with all those people who either outright disliked her or simply saw her as too otherworldly to deal with. And she fell in immediate puppy love.

They were the fairytale couple of the school. He was the fairytale prince of her dreams.

But she should have known things couldn't be so simple; two months after they started dating, he had grown tired of "waiting for her to grow up."

He could have left her then. But he chose to defile her first.

Afterwards, things didn't appear so black-and-white to Fiona. She continued to indulge in fashion; it was her preferred method of coping. But she knew she wasn't innocent anymore, and felt a consistent sense of guilt, no matter where she went. To wash away the guilt, she turned to drinking.

She had become accustomed to her role as the ruined princess, and had given up on ever finding a prince – all she would ever find were male ogres, as repulsive as her own self.

Then she met Adam. She found his innocence shockingly similar to a fairytale prince's innocence. She wanted to douse herself in that innocence; she found herself actually _happy_ again when she was surrounded by it, and she wanted it to be only hers, forever. And she was overjoyed when he planned that party for her, because no man had ever cared about her so much.

But she couldn't go, in the end. He was a prince, and she sure as hell was no princess. The alcohol came quicker than he did, and beckoned louder.

And the alcohol always won.

* * *

><p>Fiona is listening closely to the quick but steady thump in her chest as she lies in her blood-drenched gown. There is something strange about it, something extremely unfamiliar and unsettling. In this lifeless room, coated in blood and alcohol, it is the sole proof that she is still alive. It should be comforting to hear. And yet, the longer she lies there, the more an odd, disconcerting emotion flickers through her.<p>

She tries to focus on what it could be, but can't concentrate long enough; distant echoes of ideas are flashing through her brain, but are as affective as a ghost's touch, and vanish before she can process them. Her mind has finally shut off; now there is only her, and the uncomfortable feeling and the beating in her chest.

_The sole proof,_ her mind fleetingly repeats - and a sob escapes her throat in response - _that you are still alive. _

The thought is quickly thrown off in her haze, but a loud _crash!,_ and then a painfully bright _flash! _fills her ears and eyes and reminds her of the problem with listening to her heartbeat. She jumps up, in shock from the flash and the realization, and finds her back pressed against the wall. _That was thunder and lightning,_ she acknowledges to herself, _and I wasn't listening to my heartbeat; I was listening to the rain. _

Of _course_, she has to concede, of _course_ it couldn't be proof that she's alive – because she isn't. Wasting her life away drinking away her pain and drunkenly imagining the life of a princess is the same as being dead. It would be a wonder if her heart still beat at all, she was so close to dying inside.

She nervously presses her hand to her chest at this thought, and is surprised to feel – not a heartbeat, but slight discomfort. The discomfort of something rough pressing against a sensitive area. Her phone, still in her hand.

Close to her chest, the way Adam is close to her heart.

And now that Fiona thinks about Adam, she wonders how he is. He's called her several times; could it be that he is still waiting to pick her up? Is he waiting, drenched to the bone, in this harsh rain? She tries to dismiss the thought, sure that no man would ever go so far out of his way for a girl, and yet it persists still.

Adam isn't like other guys; she knows that much. He's less sure of himself, less perverted – but so much sweeter, so desirably innocent.

If any guy would wait so long in the rain for her, it's him.

"Is the prince still fighting to enter the castle?" Fiona wonders aloud, knowing how ridiculous she sounds…but still gripping her phone tightly. Unable to let go.

* * *

><p>God is crying harder than he had cried that terrible day in Adam's memories. Everywhere, every which way Adam turns, he is greeted by dark, unrelenting clouds and one furiously persistent downpour.<p>

Maybe, he thinks, maybe it is a sign that he's officially passed the point of no return.

Maybe it is a sign that he'll never be Fiona's prince.

* * *

><p><em>The princess' fate seemed sealed, but the other witches twisted the curse, so that she would only fall into a deep sleep.<br>This sleep was a far cry from death, but still it was a spell - and the princess seemed destined to sleep her life away.  
>Only true love's kiss could break this spell...<em>

* * *

><p>Another crash and flash erupt in the sky, and the two look down to find they are in the middle of a phone call.<p>

The drenched prince, surprised, takes his hand off the call button. The inebriated princess, confused, wipes blood off the very same button.

And then, hesitantly, slowly, they both bring the phones to their ears.

Hesitantly, slowly, but with a slight smile on both of their faces.

"Hello?" one or both of them whispers, and then the awkwardness is broken.

"Hi, Adam!" Fiona giggles.

His smile widens out of impulse; it's good to hear her voice. But he's still worried - something seems different about her. Off. And there's still the question of why she's actually talking to him now, after ignoring him for so long.

"Hey, Fiona. I've called you several times, and I'm actually, uh, I'm actually waiting outside your apartment right now. Is…is everything alright?"

"'Course it is!" her voice is chipper and excited, but he thinks he hears a slight slur. "I'm _so_ sorry I missed your party! Are you really outside? Hold on, I'll come get you!"

"Wait, Fi-"

He's cut off by a loud crash, and this time it's coming from the phone, not the sky. "Are you okay?"

"Ow! S-sorry, Adam…Looks like I can't stand up too well right now!"

"What? Are you drunk?"

She audibly pauses, and then whispers, "…no."

He shakes his head, though he knows she can't see it, appalled that she would blow him off for a long night of drinking instead. "You are! I can tell! Why-"

This time _he_ pauses. He wants to ask why she would so deliberately lead him on; he wants to reject her the way she rejected him. But his own self-hatred stops him in his tracks, and the words don't come. Is it really okay, he wonders, for him to blame her for lying to him, when he's been lying to her all along?

The awkwardness returns, and expands. They both listen anxiously to the invading silence, willing the other to talk, and wishing at the same time for the conversation to be over. Fiona especially listens with abated breath, concentrating to make sure she doesn't hear an angry mutter or – even worse – a demanding dial tone. She doesn't know why he stopped in the middle of his sentence, but she knows he hadn't been planning on saying anything complimentary. Is he formulating a small speech to give her, full of reprimands and completely evident disappointment? Is he stuffing each word with poison to stab her in the heart?

She can't help thinking that she deserves such harsh words for lying to him, for abandoning him, when he had never done anything wrong. But she doesn't think she'd survive such a cruel speech, and thus her own self-hatred forces her into action.

"Yes, I am…drunk. I'm sorry. I never meant to ignore you like that! I always thought you were a nice person, and then as we got to know each other, I-I really started to like you. A lot. So it meant _so _much to me, to find out you felt the same…"

She takes a breath, but he whispers her name, and she nervously hurries onward, into a full rant. "And I spent forever getting ready, just wanting everything to be perfect, but I was so nervous that maybe you wouldn't find me good enough, because god knows I'm _not_ good enough, not even close…And then I saw the vodka, and I thought maybe a shot or two to calm me down, and it turned into three and then five shots, and then I just started drinking the whole damn thing, and I-"

"-Fiona," he interrupts, his voice slightly choked. He is, he realizes suddenly, actually tearing up, because there is clearly something wrong with her, no matter what she says. He feels worse for blaming her, now, when she- _Is she blaming _herself? he wonders, shocked. _Could it be that she hates herself as much…as I hate _my_self? _He wants to comfort her, he wants to tell her it's okay, but she's continuing on, obviously still afraid of his reaction.

"-Well, so yeah, I obviously had _waaay_ too much," she continues, her voice still more shaky than before, "and, and, I just lay there, thinking about you and how much of a prince you are-"

Adam's heart freezes in his chest at her words. She thinks he's a prince? When he's no more than a disgusting monster?

"-and how I could never be good enough for you, because I'm just so disgustingly corrupted-"

Here it is, she thinks, here she will bare her soul to him and hope he doesn't crush her like Bobby did. Will he accept her, as corrupted as she is? Will he ever see her as the princess she used to be, before she drank so much her skin turned green?

"-and it's not your fault, of course. It never has been! I just…my last boyfriend, he-he did…things. He hurt me, badly. And after him, I was just left so impure, like-like-_you_ know."

She pauses, hoping he'll understand. He listens to her silent request, and, heart still hurting from what she has completely misunderstood, complies: "_like a monster_."

"Yes!" Fiona giggles her relief. She's so ecstatic he understands and hasn't run away yet. Overjoyed, and hoping desperately to lighten the mood, she adds, "It's so ridiculous, isn't it? But is it any surprise, really? How could _I _ever be a true princess, when I share a name with Fiona, the princess who ruined her life and became an _ogre_?" She giggles again, but this time it's less funny. This time it's more painful, because she's making her pain out to be a joke, and trivializing her suffering. But what more can a survivor, who blames her own self more than her abuser, do?

"…That's not funny," Adam whispers, clearly horrified at how the conversation has turned. He suddenly shivers, and abruptly remembers that he is still standing soaked in the rain, but it is more because his insides have chilled at her hateful words than because of the rain itself. "That's not funny, Fiona. He…I don't know what that jerk did to you, but clearly it has hurt you deeply. Your pain isn't funny! Please don't joke about it, or blame yourself. Believe me, I know how easy it is to hate yourself. But _you've_ done nothing wrong. It was only that jerk! You're still a perfect princess to me. _I'm _the one who isn't fit to be your prince, and I hate myself so much 'cause of it."

Fiona listens to every word, but isn't sure she understands. Pure, innocent, wholesome Adam hates himself? And believes _he_ isn't good enough for her? How could he ever do something wrong, when he is her perfect prince, her Prince Charming or her Phillip, from the perfect fairytale that _she_ ruined? "What do you mean?" she asks, and thinks, _this is it. _

Something is changing, and it will either bring them closer, or tear them completely apart for good.

"Can I come in?" he asks, softly, unassuming. Not expecting anything of her, nor believing himself worthy of anything from her. Just hoping for a reprieve from the harsh rain – from the chill in his bones.

"Yeah," Fiona murmurs, more to herself than to him. _It's okay_, she reminds herself, _he's already learned about the worst of you. Witnessing the disaster that is your living room won't bother him after all you've revealed tonight…Right?_

"Yeah?" Adam questions, unconvinced by the hesitation in her voice.

"Yeah," she repeats, louder and surer, pleasantly surprised to find that she really is okay with him coming in.

"I'm on my way."

* * *

><p>Adam enters the house, to find all the lights off and everything eerily silent. He pauses, uncertain of where to look for her, when he hears her soft voice, leading him.<p>

"The prince fought and fought to enter the castle. And when at last he had defeated the dragon and the witch, he found Sleeping Beauty, trapped in a dreamless slumber…"

"Fiona?"

"Ah! Here you are!"

He has found her pressed against the wall in her living room, eyes somewhat dazed and dress stained beyond repair. He wants to help her change and get to bed, but she refuses to cooperate, knowing that this is the last chance they have to understand each other.

Wanting to learn firsthand from him, at this very instant when they are most connected, why he can be so perfect and understand her so well. Wanting to learn why he's as broken and scarred as she is.

"Okay," he says simply to her demands – a true prince giving into what his determined princess requests. He too lies against the wall, by her side, and sits in terrified silence.

Fiona doesn't understand how someone so perfect can hate himself so much, and so she grips his hand tightly, hoping to give him some of the confidence he instills in her.

Surprised and embarrassed, Adam smiles sheepishly at her; she smiles back at his obvious blush.

If he notices the blood on her hand and his, he fails to remark on it. Instead, he gives his princess what she wants: his true self.

"The Beast's name is Adam," he begins.

"What?"

"The Beast, from Beauty and the Beast. His name is Adam. Or maybe – my name is the Beast. I _am_ him, because I hate my body as entirely and utterly as he does, and I am haunted by my body just as he is. _He_ met a witch who cursed him with his body – and I was cursed by a monster. Her name is Gracie, and…and even now, she taunts me, making fun of me for having a body that I don't want. Do you get it, Fiona?"

She shakes her head in confusion. But her face is apologetic, and he can tell she _wants_ to understand, that she doesn't think he's crazy – and that is enough for the words to come spilling out. "I was born 'Gracie,' Fiona. I didn't take the name Adam until recently. But even a guy's name can't change my body…I'm transgender."

To her credit, Fiona takes the shock surprisingly well. Everything in her mind is screaming at her to yell at him for hiding such a huge secret from her, or to just to get up and run away from this strange boy who seems even more complicated than her.

And yet…

She glances up and sees he is staring awkwardly at the floor, his face unnaturally pale and his eyes a little red. Looking him over, top-to-bottom, she slowly takes in his damp hair, his disheveled tie, his waterlogged suit. Just how long did he wait in the rain to become so soaked? And what possessed him to go in the rain in such a nice outfit anyway? _Adam must have been so worried about me...And he _always_ treats me right. Does it even matter that he lied to me? I lied to him, too, and even though he now knows how messed up I am…he's still here._

_That's right!_ She actually gasps out loud at the realization, and suddenly everything makes sense to her. _That's right. All I ever wanted in a man was someone who would support me through my loneliness, and here Adam is. He might _not_ have the body I was expecting, but…_

_He's still here._

Adam turns to stare inquisitively at her, silently questioning her loud gasp. He doesn't speak, though, and she can tell it's because he fears her response – just like she had feared his.

_We really are the same, aren't we? We both hate ourselves so much…And care for each other so deeply._

Fiona doesn't know what to say to him; she has always struggled to communicate her thoughts with others, even in the lightest of moments. Maybe she'll never be like Adam, who always seems to know the right thing to say. Yet, she feels that they have a closer bond than anyone else either of them knows – so maybe, just maybe, words aren't necessary. If they understand each other as well as she thinks they do, then maybe any sign will be enough.

_And true love's kiss broke the spell…_

She leans closer to him, aiming for his lips, but the alcohol is still affecting her body and she misses, smashing her nose into his forehead instead. The two only have time for a short shout of surprise each before she is falling down, down, down on top of him, limbs meshed together and body parts crushed in a manner that is decidedly unromantic.

They stare at each other for a moment, the awkwardness of such a failed attempt at a first kiss heating up their faces – and then they both are seized by uncontrollable laughter and fall to the floor.

For the longest time, neither of them can do anything but lie on Fiona's floor, side-by-side, and _laugh_ at how ridiculously cliché it all is. There is no conversation, and they barely even glance at each other. But their hands are still intertwined, and for the time being there is no more anger or tears.

There is only the utter exuberance in their voices, and the desirable warmth in their embraced hands. And it _is_ enough.

* * *

><p>Later on that night, after their stomachs are done cramping from all the laughter, and they've both cleaned themselves and Fiona's house up, they have their own party.<p>

It's two in the morning, but their local pizza place is still delivering and Fiona has access to a never-ending supply of On Demand movies. So they pig out and fight over the remote. Things aren't perfect, but Fiona doesn't cause a fuss when Adam awkwardly gives her his chest binder to wash, and Adam doesn't get angry when Fiona suddenly begins to feel uncomfortable and demands for him to sit a short distance away from her.

They agree to take things one day at a time, and to have patience with each other. It might take a long time – but Prince Phillip and Princess Aurora waited a lifetime for their happy ending. Fiona and Adam are certain they can wait a few years for theirs, as long as they're together.

He's the Beast with a body he can't yet overcome. She's the Sleeping Beauty who drinks more than she sleeps. Their fairytale is a twisted one – but the harder the battles, the greater the reward.

And they've already been granted the greatest reward: each other.

* * *

><p><em>The princess slept on, uninterrupted in the castle where she lay, for years. Yet eventually a young prince came to learn about her.<em>

_When he heard her tragic story, he immediately fell in love, and fought endlessly to rescue her._  
><em>One kiss, and the curse was defeated; she awoke, and fell instantly in love with him.<em>

_And the two, who had suffered for so long, finally received their happy ending._

**The End**


End file.
